The Glass Rose
by Prince Fire and Music
Summary: She was supposed to marry a prince and live happily ever after. Then one night, everything changed. Now she is a prisoner to a hideous, savage beast: condemned to take the place of her evil father. Will Rose find her happy ending? Read and Review, please!
1. Chapter 1: Distant Thunder

Why, hello my dear readers. I'm so delighted to be reunited with you again as I have quite missed our wonderful evenings together. You have been light in my heart and have filled a void I thought could not possibly be filled. I have immense love for you all and wish you dear and sweet blessings.

What's different: well you'll have to see! This first chapter is shorter, more concise, and summarizes exactly what I want it to summarize. You don't know too much about what's going on, but you'll certainly meet interesting themes.

A few communication changes: each chapter now has a name, as you can see, which is nice. At the top of the page I will tell you who has reviewed it and who helped edit the storyboard as well as how many words are in it. I will also answer reviews from the previous chapter at the bottom of the page to make sure I get back to you all. For instance; this chapter is 2013 words long, the story was edited by MarsArrow, and the text was reviewed by my lovely friends Vanderspektacular and In-Christ, Billios. You ladies were wonderful (kisses them respectively on the cheek), thank you for being so marvelous. Billi is also available for beta-services by the way, so get her while ya can!

This chapter is dedicated to everyone who believed in my ability and encouraged me even when my friends and family did not.

With love,

Peter William (Celestial Seraphim)

Every now and then I hear the sounds of screaming in my mind: the horrible shouts of a father who did not love, of a brother who could not protect, of a sister who would not care. And then, just like that, they're gone- vanished into thin air. But still, all the same, there is the memory of what was left behind in the bleakness of those woods and the pain that swamped the grey stone mansion. But now they exist only in my nightmares, or the occasional fleeting thought. It will never be behind me, but rather beside me; and that is the only way I would have it. For the past stays with you, to remind you of what you have left. That reminder is what helps you to build your future.

But the past is still there, just as the memories are, and even if you want them to leave, they stay. You cannot escape them, for where you go, they will follow. Yet, sometimes it is only their ghost that helps you to start the day anew. That is where my story begins.

The childhood of my memories was rather like the gentle rumbling of a distant thunder: I knew that sooner or later a storm would emerge and there would be no escape. I do not recall whether I heard its stirring in the sepulchral silence of the mansion or in the joyless pallor of the residents; I suppose it was both. The servants seldom spoke, or even smiled, and my siblings were never heard laughing as they played in the meadow. It was almost as if there was a supernatural stillness to our home.

Father visited rarely and never to see me. His duty was to the war and the struggle against the invading armies of the north. I knew little of the matter and even less of the details. My thoughts were solely of the fact that it took him away. I don't know why I didn't feel deprived. I suppose I might have if I had known him before he left, but I had not even been born when the war began. Mother must have been pregnant at the time, or perhaps a little bit later, and Kat and James were barely more than infants.

Mother was very beautiful: a wife any man would have been proud of. I didn't know how or when she died; I assumed perhaps during childbirth or from a disease. The subject was not one to be mentioned by the servants, nor did they give straight answers when I asked. She was, from what I gather, a very rich noble from a highly educated family when she met my Father, who was a common merchant at that time. The tale always seemed romantic to me; they met, fell in love, defied social norms, and married. Or at least that is how I pictured it. I didn't know if that really happened at all.

There was no picture of her amongst those mounted in our gallery. I assumed it was because she was too young, or perhaps, if she did have a portrait, it had been lost. For the most part I had to imagine her in my mind: tall, fair, slim figure, wonderfully elegant poise; her face framed by the famous long red locks about which I had heard visitors reminisce. They came every so often to pay their respects to Kat and James, and to inquire about the doings of Father. Few, if any, ever spoke to me, though I was quite content to exist in the shadows. Kat and James were excellent hosts and I had no desire to intervene.

In our youth, our interaction was limited to an occasional meal with each other. Normally the servants allowed me to survive on the wild berries of the forest and an occasional treat amongst an assortment for Kat and James. However, in the case of a special event, such as Christmas, I was invited to dine with them.

It is a wonder that I learned to speak at all with such few interactions with people. I am told my first attempt at speech came out as birdsong. I assume it was something I learned from my favorite dwelling: the deep forest beyond the meadow.

I spent hours there every day: singing with the birds, dancing with the fairy-flies, climbing the trees with the squirrels. The animals taught me many things I would never have been able to learn in human society. For example, I understood exactly how I was to put my feet on the rough bark and what kinds of branches were the best to perch on. There was a very elaborate secret to the squeezing of your knees and the pulling of your arms that, if done well, ensured you would be accepted among the tree folk immediately. The badgers taught me excellent mechanisms of digging that were extraordinarily useful when I would look for buried things or plant flowers. The beavers taught me expert diving skills and how best to stay under water with limited breathing ability. I was a fast learner and steadily became capable of adapting to this new culture.

It wasn't until a year or two before Father came back that I began to speak to the animals. At first I thought that they were only making noises: small grunts and retorts if you will. But as I began to listen I slowly began to understand them. Not only did they call to each other, but they also spoke with words and signals. I grew to understand the tail slapping of a beaver not only indicated an alert of danger, but was also a reaction to a joke or comical situation. Beavers have a marvelous sense of humor.

The servants have always described the birds as gossipers. However, the opposite couldn't be truer. Birds are wonderful informants of other places and new ideas and stories. They sing, with beautiful song, of doomed love affairs and impending wars. Many are kind and sweet tempered, if not a bit shy as well. A bluebird friend of mine often told me of the going-on's in the war Father was in, so that I was never misinformed. He learned these things from a hawk friend of his, who was employed in it.

The deer are delightful running partners and are experts in amusement and gaiety. The doe are mild mannered, whereas the bucks seem to be more dramatic- if not Quixotic in their own way. I have always been fascinated by their elegance and graceful dance. If I were any sort of animal, I would wish to be a deer.

I began to become more infatuated by the day with this new and exciting world of the wild. It was dangerous- that it true, for not every bear is kindly, and no wolf desires friendship by natural means, but at the same time it was mesmerizing and liberating. No longer was I confined to the walls of dreary stone, for now I had the stars and the trees as my tapestries.

With the use of my animal-trained skills I was able to create a haven in which I stayed when I could not bear to be in the house. The servants found my behavior erratic and treated me as though I were wild creature from the woods, though I suppose in many ways I was. They made sure that, at all possible moments, they were not alone with me. I could have hardly cared. At five years of age I barely noticed them, and they had showed no less contempt for me when I was "tame". It almost seemed their nature to avoid me.

When I would be home I would often spend time in the gallery, looking at all the pictures Father and Mother had collected of their various relatives. Father's portrait had been added a few years ago and as I looked up at him I found a sense of pride dwelling in my heart. He was, indeed, very handsome, with curly blond hair and deep set green eyes. His smile was reassuring: soft, gentle, and yet confident. His square jaw was held regally into the air as if he, too, were a noble. Marriage can often change a manner.

I was examining it one day when a maid came in and, seeing me, cried out. "Oh, miss, you mustn't touch anything, you'll ruin the Master's picture!"

"I-I'm sorry," I said stammering.

She called down a butler who took the portrait off the wall and inspected it for marks. My older brother, James, stood in the hallway, glaring at me through his book.

"I'm sorry, I-I didn't know!" I said to him.

He didn't answer.

I looked back to the barren space on the wall. A large frame mark marred where the portrait had been placed, but to my surprise another frame mark lied within it.

"Was there another portrait here before Father's?" I asked James.

He looked up from his book with a blank expression.

I blushed at the uncomfortable silence before finally managing, "Whose was it?"

He closed his book and turned round to leave.

"Wait, please!" I called out to him.

He turned back around.

"Please, tell me," I pleaded.

He shrugged, then murmured, "Mother's" after which he proceeded to leave.

I glanced back to the mark on the wall. Mother's? Was it true? Did she really have a portrait created? My heart bled. I was desperate to see it.

I confronted my forest friends the next day about the matter. "Do you really think there could be a portrait?"

Henry tapped his paw. "Maybe. I still say it's a bizarre custom, keeping pictures."

"It's to remember what people look like," I told him.

He tapped his foot again indicating indifference.

Henry is a beaver, although he really isn't called Henry. I have only given them names so that you may differentiate them as I do. The truth is, if you haven't guessed, that animals don't have names. Their system of communication is so much more efficient than ours that they don't need to refer to each other; they always know who they are talking to. Your name is your voice and your strength and your spirit. When I first explained to the animals the concept of names they were appalled. Antoine, my flying troubadour friend exclaimed, "You mean humans actually label each other?"

I nodded, finding amusement in their bewildered responses. Names were second nature to me; I didn't see how you could get by without one. The animals went on:

"That's terrible! What if you don't like it? You're stuck with an ugly label for the rest of your life! No one should ever decide for you what you are."

I smiled. I had never thought of it that way. Antoine was so clever. Berry, his brother, peeped up from beside him. "Can you change your name? What do they mean?"

I laughed, "No, you can't change it. It's just attached to you. It's what separates you from a crowd. I think they mean things: mine does."

Irene, the doe, stopped eating grass and gazed up at me. "What does yours mean?"

"Mine means a rose."

The animals paused. "What's that?"

"I think it's a flower."

They nodded and went back to their duties.

Animals are very emotionally perceptive. They are very keen on making sure everyone's opinions are voiced and that no one is left unhappy. They were wonderful confidants in my youth.

We were going to finish Henry's dam the day I left them forever. I had just walked into the kitchen when I heard a commotion from upstairs. Suddenly the kitchen door slammed open. "Child, quick! Upstairs immediately; you're getting a bath."

"What?" I said dumbly, confused by the commotion.

"Quick, child!"

I made my way up the stairs for the first time in three months, back to my room.

What I didn't know was that the war was over and Father was expected back home.

Today.


	2. Chapter 2: Sudden Showers

**Wow! Fifteen Reviews on my first chapter! Incredible! Once again, my lovely friends VanderSpektacular and InChrist-Billios helped with the editing! They're so marvelous I would be dead without them! Now for the replying!**

**QueenOFTheFaeries****: Great, I'm so glad you like it! You're right, I was kinda mad myself after spending six months and thirteen chapters on it, but it's definitely better this time. Much richer, more detailed, and yet less extravagant at the same time!**

**orange3embers****: Wow, I'm glad you liked the old version so much! Although I don't recall you reviewing :(. And if you liked **_**that,**_** I know you're gonna love this!**

**the bookkeeper****: Yeah, it definitely doesn't start out with a bang, but I like how the momentum builds up more. This chapter is calm and informative, gradually building up to an out of control climax and settling back down again, waiting to rise once more. Without the sense of security I think you'd get lost. But, I might to spice things up during the final revision. I'll definitely keep your comment in mind! Oh and you'll find everyone's ages in this chapter. There's a bit more detail on her family here.**

**GeminiAngel236****: Gemini! Great to hear from you again! Yes, the picture is definitely an interesting mystery, but keep it in mind because you'll soon see more of it.**

**Maryann234****: Yep, it's definitely "revamped" (love that word, it's so cool). Glad you like how she's introduced, I wanted you to see her before she became so weak and docile, ya know? Thanks for the review!**

**Thai Libre****: Yeah, sorry, I decided to take chapter fourteen off a little too early, but at least I'm up and updating again! I hope you love the new changes, I certainly do!**

**Crayola Color Sky****: Thanks for all the compliments, you're great! I liked the animals, too, it was a spontaneous decision to give them all personalities, but I thought "Go for it!"**

**LJane****: You're definitely right, I did lose it sometimes in the description. I plagued it with unnecessary details. But glad you're lik'n this one! I hate Charles, too, but the Beast isn't going to be introduced until about a fourth of the way through the story. So, sorry!**

**Jocanda****: Ah, my dear friend! So good to hear from you again! You'll see most of the familiar faces and personality in this revision. They'll just be a little bit zanier!**

**Piratesswriter****: Backroads? Is that you? It's definitely not as detailed as before, but I can always add more. It's taking away detail that's the hardest. Glad you liked the label part! I see you're catching on. Rose's parents play a very distinctive role in this!**

**Captain Fantastic****: Captain! You're making me blush! I wouldn't suggest talking to the hawk, he doesn't sound very friendly! (EEK) Eighteen stories at once? Marvelous! I say go for it!**

**B. Harris****: I'm so glad you liked how I described her childhood! It was very difficult, but your praise makes it well worth it! Yes, I'm glad I used the spotlight effect, too. I wanted the reader to know her, but not tire of her. Thanks for all the praise. Miss ya!**

**magz88****: Glad you like the animals! I wouldn't mind talking to them myself! Thanks for the review!**

**Queen of the Fairytales:**** Oh, yes I remember you! Great to hear from you again! I'm thrilled that you liked my story so much! I think this version will be even better!**

**Octopus Knight****: Wow, I'm so flattered that you love my story so much! Glad you built up the courage to comment, I'm always thrilled to hear from you! My style has changed, glad you noticed and I'm even gladder it held your attention the whole time! I hope you do enjoy this better, I know I will! Love ya!**

I was taken immediately to the washroom where they proceeded to violate each and every part of my body. It was nauseating. Where was the dear Mother Earth that clung safe and snug beneath my fingernails and my ears? Why had they robbed my hair of its earthy fragrance and replaced it with an oily, artificial one? They told me they were cleaning me, but I knew what they were really doing was tearing me from the memory of the woods I held so dear. It was terrifying!

They then dressed me in a large, frilly frock with an obscene amount of layers and ribbons. I felt like a giant china doll, frivolously dressed up with no one to play with. It would almost appear that I was meeting a potential suitor and not my Father. A giant ribbon was strung through my hair and a few paddings of rouge were applied to my cheeks, though the sun had already given them a naturally rosy glow. My feet were eased into tightly laced slippers that only a dancer should be forced to wear.

I emerged from the room feeling like a crime to my nature. The servants kept brushing my hair and putting more make-up on my face. I saw Kat grace across the hallway. I suppose I had never noticed how beautiful she was, even at eight. She had beautiful long locks of gold and alluring green eyes. Her figure was graceful -it was evident even in a child- and her poise was steeped with elegance.

I smiled at her from across the room. She didn't notice me and continued on down the stairway. James appeared at the other end. He was gently dabbing his beautiful silk doublet while the servants buttoned up his velvet navy vest. He looked so mature for an eleven year old. His features were broad and angular and his physique was already displaying proof of arduous training and exercise. His hair, like Kat's, was blond and curly, although his was cropped close to his head. His dark green eyes gleamed with a mysterious force that even a full-grown man could feel threatened by.

The servants slipped my hands into a pair of silk gloves and I moved down the stairs and into the dining room. A seat was already pulled out for me and when I positioned myself in front of it the butler kindly pushed it in.

I looked around me. The deep scarlet curtains were pulled back, illuminating an assortment of fruit in a silver bowl resting comfortably on a rose embroidered tablecloth. It felt dreamy, as if today was the start of a mystical, magical era of endless bliss.

But was endless bliss going to be an endless dress-up tea party?

James arrived and sat at the foot of the table. He and Kat folded their hands politely and sent each other brief looks before staring elsewhere. It was uncomfortable, the three of us together: almost intimidating. I was clearly out of place. They were refined and elegant and I was…well, clearly nothing of the sort.

It was Kat who broke the long silence. "Rose, you mustn't say anything to Father. You'll only get in the way. It's obvious you've never stepped foot in decent society."

"And don't make animal noises," replied James.

"And if he asks you questions either respond as if you are a dumb mute or merely too ignorant to understand what he is saying." Kat stated again.

"And if he tells a joke you must laugh, but not too much." I turned to face James again.

"And you must agree with every point he makes." Now it was Kat's turn.

"And most importantly-"

"You must never mention Mother!" they both said sternly at the same time.

There came from behind a loud boom as the two large doors of the front entrance swung open dramatically. I could hear voices from the distance.

"Sir, it's splendid to see you back from the war!" I heard the rustling of silk as our Butler, Alain, removed some sort of coat and hung it in the rack.

"Where are they?" came a soft, gentle voice. "Where are my children?"

"They're in the dining room sir," Alain replied.

James and Kat rushed out of their chair and out of the room shouting, "Father! Father, you're back! You've returned!"

There was great merriment ringing throughout the halls. Laughter chimed like great bells on a hill, sweetly sounding through mountains of loneliness. I pushed myself out of the chair and peeped around the corner of the great chamber. There, in the center of it all, stood a man tall and as handsome as I had imagined he would be, with bright green eyes and curly blond hair like his children. They were all so similar it was alarming to know that I belonged to the same family.

I moved around the wall quietly and watched them for a moment. They were hugging and yelling and kissing and crying all at the same time: it was wonderful. What love! What vivacity! How could there exist a more wonderful family?

I stepped quietly out into the open, hardly knowing what to say. Here was a man I had seen only in glimpses and had never spoken to. Did he even remember me? Perhaps I should be subtler in my approach. Besides, I had no intention of ruining this joyous moment. But then again, shouldn't I be apart of it?

I stepped forward again and then back, not quite certain what I should do. Perhaps waiting was the best option. I placed my feet back together and stood awkwardly for a few moments. They didn't notice me at first, such was their gaiety, but after a while they calmed down and looked up.

I made an attempt to speak. It failed. Instead, I stood shaking like an imbecile. Father chuckled to himself before straightening his gaze out in my direction.

Our eyes met.

It is very difficult to describe what happened next. I cannot accurately explain the change that took place in that moment. I saw, for a brief, shining moment, the fire of love and exuberance in his face. The minute they rested on me that fire was extinguished with a great glacial wave. A dark shadow flickered over his brow. His smile disappeared. The warm green eyes turned to ice.

"Who are you?"

I tried to speak again, but my body was petrified. I couldn't move; such was the power of his gaze. I felt as if I had suddenly been turned into a marble statue.

"Well?"

I managed to swallow and say, "Hello, Father."

The room fell very silent. Everything was suspended in time. I felt like I had said something terribly, terribly wrong.

"You'll forgive me, but I do not recall having a third child, though I did not think I was so old as to forget such an important matter."

I stood there stammering, wanting desperately to run away, but I was too petrified to make any such movement.

His brow narrowed. "I believe you still have not answered my question. Who are you and what are you doing in my house?"

My cheeks became a genuine red. "I-I'm R-R-Rose, F-F…sir," I did not want to make the same mistake and call him "Father" again.

"Is there a reason that you are in my house or isn't there? I haven't got all day."

There was a long silence.

Kat tugged on his coat-sleeve. "Father, please, may we eat now? I'm starving and I haven't had a thing to eat all day?"

He turned and smiled down at her. "Of course! But don't you want to open your presents first!"

"Presents!" James and Kat both rang out.

"Of course, follow me!" he boomed and swept off out the front door towards the carriage. They ran after him giddily like cats with a trailing string.

I did not move. I could not move.

But I had to leave.

Whatever had just transpired was not only horrific, but evidently destined to send my quaint years plummeting into a nightmare of misery and grief. The look in his eyes wasn't surprise or concern. It wasn't jesting; it wasn't confused.

The look on his face was a look of insatiable hatred.

I shrank to the floor. I almost wanted to cry, but I was still too scared. What I needed to do was leave, right now.

My feet weren't listening. My mind screamed at them to leap up and run, but they refused idly. My hands were too busy trembling and holding my quaking arms to pull the rest of my body across the floor.

So I waited.

A maid came down the stairs a found me a few minutes later. "What on Earth are you doing lying on the floor?"

I stared at her, speechlessly. Her gaze softened. "Here, let me help you up."

She lifted me up and I tried to stand again, but my feet were still too wobbly. I collapsed again and started to cry. The maid frowned again. "Miss, it's not going to help anyone if you just go around falling and crying all over the place."

I couldn't stop.

She sighed and left me, returning a few moments later with Alain who promptly picked me up and carried me upstairs.

"Where do you want her?" he said disinterestedly.

"Gracious, I don't know what to do with the child! Put her in one of the spare bedrooms, just so long as she's out of the Master's way."

Alain found a room a few corridors down from Kat's and laid me on the great silk covered bed. "Now, stay here, understand? Go to bed or read quietly, but don't disturb the Master. He's tired as it is. Got enough to recover from without that awful war on his mind."

Then he left.

I didn't stop crying. I tried. The tears just came. Soon there was a large wet spot on the nice silk bedspread. Then I cried because I had probably ruined the bedspread.

I must have fallen asleep because I suddenly awoke with a jolt to the sound of thunder. It was near and menacing, almost deliberately so. The sky was strangely dark, even though moments ago it had seemed blue and clear. _How long have I been asleep for?_ I wondered.

There was a gust of rain that blew in from the windows and I realized, to my surprise, just how cold and wet it was in the small room. I sat up and moved towards the door, but then stopped. Father was no doubt about in the house. Did I dare risk any unwanted meetings with him?

I took in a deep breath. He was probably nowhere to be seen right now and if I moved quickly I would be able to retreat back to my shelter in the woods. My friends were, no doubt, worrying about me.

I turned the knob and stepped gingerly out into the hallway, making my feet as soft as velvet brushing against satin. Somewhere a shutter flapped violently against the wall, sending a shiver down my spine. I didn't know this house very well, even if I had lived in it all this time, and the prospect of it being haunted was very believable to me. There was an eldritch sensation to this place.

I strolled down the corridor briskly. It was long and almost irregularly so. My eyes flickered like a dying flame as they moved from one painting to the next. Even though we had a huge and magnificent gallery there were still beautiful works of art strewn amongst the walls. Most of them were landscapes, but a few showed people standing up or looking serious in an armchair.

I turned the corridor and halted. Shadows grazed up and down the wall, emitted from an open door down on the right. A voice sounded through the halls giddily, although I could not make out what it said at first. After a while I recognized it to be Kat's and she appeared to be talking to someone.

"Marie, would you like more tea?"

Another voice followed, shrill and unnaturally pitched: "Why, yes, Miss Kat I would love some tea."

"Here you are Marie."

"Thank you, Miss Kat, you're the kindest, prettiest girl I know."

"Why, thank you Marie. I think so, too."

_What an odd friend_, I thought. _Clearly, she must like Kat very much to shower her with praise like that._

I heard a shriek from her room, and hid from view as fast as I could. The door burst open completely and Kat ran down the hallway crying. "Daddy, I burned my hands with the tea kettle!"

I moved out from view and, after her footfalls were too distant to be heard, proceeded to slip around the corner. I was curious to see whom her friend was, the one who had praised her so highly. Why had she not left with Kat?

I slipped into Kat's bedroom and peeped around the door. No one was there, surprisingly, but as I turned to leave I noticed a small porcelain doll that sat comfortably on a chair pulled up close to an elaborate china tea set. I moved to her curiously. She looked remarkably like Kat. Long tresses of gold framed her small, white face and her eyes were a pale peridot green. Her gown was made of genuine silk and possessed intricate pink rose embroidered over a crème background. She was breathtaking.

I picked her up and cradled her in my arms. She felt so real, as if at any minute her glassy look would melt into a genuine smile. I rocked her back and forth, gently.

A small gasp from afar drew my attention. I looked up, alarmed, to see Kat standing in the doorway. She gave me a look of the utmost horror.

"What are you doing to my Marina?" she demanded.

"I-I'm sorry," I replied nervously. "I only wanted to look at her. I'll put her back."

"Don't _touch_ her!" Kat shrieked. "Don't ever touch her! Give her to me!" I handed the doll quickly to Kat, but Kat's burned hands reacted before I could.

At once I heard a terrific shatter.

Kat screamed. I heard footsteps and Father immediately barged in. "What's wrong, Katrina? Did you burn yourself again?"

Kat broke out into hysterical sobs. "She ruined my new doll! The present you gave to me!"

He turned to me savagely.

"I-I'm sorry, please. I didn't m-mean to, I was j-just-…"

He looked back to Kat and held very still before turning once more to my direction. "You'll pay for that," he said chillingly through gritted teeth. His fists clenched threateningly. "Every last _cent_."


End file.
